Freak
by Fleur de Anemone
Summary: Why couldn't I be one of them? What makes me so much different than them? [A Kiba OneShot]


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto... But if I did, oh, what Kiba would do...

**Aforenotes: **I was reading a doujinshi called "The Moon Princess." I thought it was so kawaii, I wanted to write a story like it. Except, mine's... Well, I dunno what to call it. Prejudice? Racial? Definitely not racial. o.O;; That would be weird. I've been reading a lot of racial and prejudice books lately; _Maniac Magee _and _Behind You_ two I can name. I guess it's because my Language Arts teacher got me into it. She's a nice lady, but her book suggestions are just so good and so damn _addictive_.

**Warning: **Interracial prejudice. This short fanfiction explores the thoughts and feelings of a child left out just because of how he looks and his family's condition. I don't think it's _that_ sad, so if softies out there end up crying, don't blame me. I'm a kid, and I'm still in middle school, so I still remember how kids act and think towards kids that are different. Think whatever _you_ want to think, but I know that kids really do act like this.

**Freak**

**By Fleur de Anemone**

**A Kiba OneShot**

I just couldn't look away. As if in a daze, I stared down at them from the roof, watching them, watching them play with each other, watching them have fun. Watching them just being... Them. Why couldn't I be one of _them_? What makes me so much different than them? My grandma once told me that the kids just didn't understand what an Inuzuka was. She said we were special people. I loved my Grandma. But what _I_ couldn't understand was why nobody wanted to play with me. I was human. On the inside, I was one of _them_. But they didn't see me as one of _them_ on the outside.

When Grandma died, I didn't know what to do. Mom said she died of "spinal tuberculosis," or something. Didn't they have a cure for that? Couldn't we afford it? Of course not. We were poor. That's what seperated me from _them_. They were rich. Middle class. None of them were poor. I lived in a small, three-room apartment with my sister and parents and our three dogs.

Hana has a dog, and my parents have dogs. Dad said that when we have enough money to enroll me in the Konoha Shinobi Academy, he'll buy me a dog to train with. The truth is, my dad isn't a very good ninja. God knows how he even made it to _chuunin_. Mom ran a really small hair salon that barely made any profits.

So, all in all, my parents made enough to take care of us and enroll Hana, at least, in the Academy.

Grandpa said, last week, after Grandma died, that she would be really happy where she goes. He says that when people die, their soul just stands up out of them, rolling its shoulder blades, tired from the weight of carrying all that skin and stuff for so many years. Then they look around, at all the sad faces of people they knew, of people they loved, and _poof_, disappear.

I asked if babies had souls. He said that babies are too young to have souls. He said that people got their souls when they were about four or five, when they could understand things good. I asked if I had a soul. He just laughed and ruffled my hair and said to me, of course, Kiba, you have a soul. You're almost seven years old now, aren't you? And I said Grandpa, I'm _nine_. And he said, really? I guess my old memory is just slipping these days.

After Grandma died, and we became even _more_ poor and had to move into a smaller apartment, I vowed to become an awesome ninja. I started working for mom, sweeping up leftover hair and dumping it out. I didn't earn a lot of money, because mom needed cash too, so I made up for her by doing odd jobs for housewives. Getting the dry cleaning, walking the dog, watering the plants, whatever. I would pay my own tuition at the Academy.

I sat on the roof, the tile cold on my butt, and it wasn't helping that I left my parka inside. Business was slow at the barber shop, and I couldn't find any jobs. It was almost September. It was getting cold, but _they_ didn't care. They laughed and played and jumped and ran and tagged and had fun.  
I didn't.

They didn't like me. Ever since they found out I was poor. Ever since they found out that the red triangles were actually natural.

They called me poor and weird when I tried to play with them.

Somehow, I could always hear them whispering behind me.

_Freak._


End file.
